War Room

Aden trod along the corridor, accompanied by Father Edgar, both headed toward the war room. The hallway echoed with the rhythmic sound of their footsteps, punctuated by the occasional creak of the aged floorboards beneath their feet, a witness to the antiquity of the structure they traversed."We survived the blood bats swarm thirty years ago, goblins raid five years after, and by the blessing of Aione, we will survive this harpies ordeal too," Father Edgar declared, his voice brimming with an optimism that seemed to defy the grim circumstances they faced.As they walked together, Father Edgar provided a brief history of the village, his words painting a vivid picture of the challenges they had endured and the resilience they had cultivated. "The blood bats and goblins were gone when the harpies started to appear near the village. It seems like the harpies keep both of those pests at bay, while the wyverns also keep the harpies at bay."Aden nodded, understanding dawning upon him. "The balance," he murmured, recognizing the intricate web of coexistence that governed the natural order."Aye, the harmony we have with nature is crucial," Father Edgar affirmed, his tone solemn yet tinged with reverence. "The village was thriving for the past twenty-five years with the rapid development of the Monterei port that provided an alternative trading route for the empire to the western hemisphere."As they traversed the corridor, their footsteps seemed to echo the cadence of the village's history, each step a testament to the endurance and resilience of its people. The walls around them whispered tales of hardship and triumph, of battles waged and victories claimed against formidable foes, both natural and otherwise.Their journey took them to the backyard pavilion of the courthouse, where an unexpected sight greeted them. Old man Jed, his weathered face flushed, was already chugging his second jug of wine, his back leaning against the courthouse's wall, just outside the pavilion."Ah, good morning Edd," Jed slurred, his words thick with the influence of the potent drink."It's almost night, Jed," Father Edgar replied, his tone tinged with disapproval, clearly unamused by Jed's excessive drinking habit."Whelp, my bad.." Jed hiccuped, unfazed by the admonishment. "Drink with me? For old time's sake?"The old man extended a cup of wine toward Father Edgar, his offering a familiar gesture between long-time companions."No, thanks. I have a meeting with the Captain in the War Room," Father Edgar politely declined, his priorities firmly set on the task at hand.Aden couldn't help but observe the stark contrast in Jed's behavior, his curiosity piqued. Just a moment ago, Old Man Jed was maintaining the hwachas at the rooftop when the villagers prayed, and now he already drinking his life out of misery."What's wrong with him?" Aden asked. "In the daytime, he was like this very serious man, and when the night came, he was like some drunk homeless guy in the corner of a damp alley."Father Edgar sighed, his expression a mix of sadness and understanding as if the weight of the old man's burden had settled upon his own shoulders. "He's been drinking since his daughter died, claiming that it was his atonement for his sins in the past."Aden furrowed his brow, perplexed by the mention of sins. "Sins?" he repeated, his curiosity piqued."Aye," Father Edgar affirmed, his tone grave. "Something about someone with the name Lororis."A flicker of recognition crossed Aden's features as he recalled a distant memory. "Yeah, I heard him once mention that name in his sleep while we were out at the wilderness campfire," he revealed, his voice tinged with a hint of unease.The night in question played vividly in his mind's eye – the crackling flames casting flickering shadows across Jed's weathered face, his brow furrowed and lips moving imperceptibly as if engaged in a silent conversation with ghosts from his past. At the time, Aden had dismissed it as mere ramblings, but now, the significance of that utterance took on a new, haunting weight."What could have happened between him and this Lororis?" Aden wondered aloud, his gaze drifting back towards the old man, who now seemed to be a riddle wrapped in an enigma – a tormented soul burdened by demons that no amount of wine could drown.Father Edgar shook his head solemnly, his expression a mixture of pity and resignation. "I know not the details, but whatever transpired, it has consumed him. The guilt, the regret – they have become his constant companions, driving him to seek solace in the bottom of a bottle."A heavy silence settled between them, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the village's activities, a stark contrast to the weight of the revelations they had just shared. In that moment, Aden couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the old man, a reminder that even the most outwardly jovial souls could harbor the darkest of secrets, the deepest of scars.Intrigued, Aden pressed further, "How do you two know each other?""Regalyon Academy," Father Edgar replied with a hint of nostalgia in his voice. "He always boasted to the fellow acolytes that he dated the most beautiful girl named Lororis."A wry smile played upon Father Edgar's lips as he added, "The funny part is, we never met this Lororis."With their brief exchange concluded, Father Edgar knocked on the pavilion's door, signaling their arrival at the war room.⁕⁕⁕The war room crackled with tension as the imperial knights convened to strategize their defensive efforts against the relentless harpy onslaught. The flickering candles cast an ominous dance across the maps and parchments strewn about the heavy oaken table.Captain Willem's brow furrowed as he surveyed the crudely sketched illustrations depicting their tenuous situation. "As I was told by the Academy, this will be a short winter," he declared, his gravelly voice barely masking the undercurrent of dread. "A month, give or take, before snowfall."At the fringes of the room, young Oliver dutifully filled the gathering knights' cups from a battered wine ewer. Though merely a squire tasked with serving the hardened warriors this evening, Aden had impressed upon him the priceless opportunity to immerse himself in the makings of strategy and command.Aden had told him to learn everything from the knights— to listen and to observe the knights in the war room and the battle table was a priceless knowledge not every squire could have.Listen, observe - few squires are granted a seat at the true heart of warfare unfolding like this. The weight of those words was not lost on Oliver as he methodically worked the room, a diminutive figure amidst the gathering of titans.At the table's head, Ser Gareth deftly arranged a series of carved tokens across the well-worn maps, each one denoting a sector already scoured thoroughly or still awaiting salvage operations. As the senior knights murmured amongst themselves, Oliver drifted near enough to catch snatches of their terse discourse."This mission will drag into weeks before completion," Corporal Knightly remarked, pausing to sip from his replenished cup with a grateful nod to the serving boy. "Weeks we may not have at our disposal."Captain Willem's expression remained inscrutable as he turned his attention to the grim-faced corporal. "And how fare our provision stores, Corporal? We'll need constant resupply if this drags on as you fear."A terse silence fell, broken only by the sporadic clink of olived steel as the other knights reflexively clasped their weapons. All eyes turned to the grizzled Corporal who was held responsible as a supply master in this party.Knightly's jaw clenched imperceptibly before he laid bare the harsh truth. "There is not much left in store, I'm afraid. We were able to preserve only the hardiest livestock and staples - some sacks of flour from the bakery, a few casks of beef jerky, and whatever travel rations remained after the last convoy raid." His brow knitted as he did the mental calculations. "Two days' worth, four if stretched punishingly thin. After that..." He left the dire implications unspoken.Captain Willem's nostrils flared with a low exhalation as he processed this harrowing development. "Two days?" he echoed, shoulders slumping ever so slightly from the burden of leadership. "Then we must find alternative foodstuffs for our people, whatever the cost." His eyes were slitted with weary resignation. "It may take everything we have to outlast the harpies until the snow forces their migration southwards."Oliver felt his blood turn to ice water at the stark proclamations. The low murmurs of the senior knights melted away into an indistinct droning as he absorbed the precariousness of their reality.The sound of approaching footfalls suddenly shattered the esoteric war council's solemn reverie. Gilbert looked up sharply, quill poised over his quickly scribbled logs and notations.Captain Willem's expression hardened once more into that of a seasoned field commander. "We'll need to table this for the nonce," he intoned crisply. "Discretion is paramount until we can formulate a sustainable strategy.""Aye sir," Corporal Knightly and the other recon knights replied in unison.As the weighty doors groaned open to admit the newcomers, Oliver slipped back into the corner of the room. His mind raced, fear and awe thrumming through his veins in equal measure.These were the burdens true warriors shouldered, he realized - prioritizing the collective good above all else, even inevitable starvation and deprivation.⁕⁕⁕